My Husband Is The Devil's Helper

I've had a nagging headache since I returned home from the Surrey International Writers' Conference. I just completed a 10-day round of antibiotics for pneumonia, and was very happy to see the last of these pills which were clearly designed by a sadist. Sure, I only had to take one pill every 24 hours, but they were the colour of a day-old corpse, and too big to swallow without panic setting in. Cramps and nausea always followed, and there was the threat that the pill, after 10 minutes or so of choking it down, would make a break for it so to speak, along with the meal taken as a precaution.

I had a 70% pill retention success rate. 

Do the math.

I really didn't want my doctor to order tell me I had to take more torture another round of those corpse fingers pills.

But after four days at home, I've been nodding off every time I sit down to work or read. I've had no energy to walk the dog, and even though I've been going to bed really early for the past four nights, and slept like the dead each time, I've continued to stumble around exhausted.

I've been fretting.

Maybe it's just conference hangover? 

Jetlag? 

Or maybe the pneumonia is back.

A few minutes ago, my daughter was making herself a coffee and calmly pointed to the bowl where I keep my Extra-Bold Starbucks Deep Dark Smack Yourself Awake And Thank The Universe You're Alive coffee pods. "Did you see what dad did?" she said.

Wait, what?

I leaned in for a closer look. Seems that while I was away, my dear husband, for reasons unknown, decided to "tidy" up the kitchen, and he mixed in decaf pods with my usual extra-bolds.  

 

These Pods From The Devil (there for guests/heretics who may request such dreck) were stored in a separate box, in a faraway cupboard, behind the sacks of potatoes and dog food. I don't know how he even found them, let alone what made him think it was a good idea to put them in the bowl with the normal ones where his unsuspecting, sleepy, jet-lagged, spouse would stumble in and use them and think, "Hm, my morning coffee doesn't taste the way it normally does, but perchance the cream is off." 

A quick count (box of 12 decaf pods now down to 4 pods) and a perusal of the kitchen garbage confirmed my suspicions. I may have pneumonia, but the headaches and lethargy are from caffeine withdrawal.

FYI Starbucks. It's not a bad idea to make your labeling on the decaf devil pods as bold as your regular coffee pods. Just saying.

Oh, as for the tidying up, the kitchen is still an unholy mess with my husband's papers and journals covering every surface. But the coffee pods stacked in a lovely Villeroy & Boch bowl look like they belong on a magazine cover. 

What I put up with on a daily basis

Watch this and you'll get some idea of what I put up with every day, living with the world's most ridiculous dog.

He clearly wants something. I know what it is, because I've lived with him for 9 1/2 years, but see if you can figure it out.

He's communicating with his eyes, and as you'll see at one point, his snout.

The scene: I am on the couch, trying to read, as he sits at my feet and stares, and shifts, and snorts. I know from experience that if I ignore him, he'll woof deep in his throat, tiny restrained woofs that blow out his cheeks. Those will turn into sharp barks that show me how disgusted he is by my lethargy to act now right now I've been patient enough, woman, and I lack opposable thumbs we've been over this!



Did you figure out what was bugging him?

I honestly think, seriously believe, that my dog has OCD.

To all my twisted knitter sistahs

You have to knit to really appreciate the silliness of this video. It uses dubbed computer voices to your text, which only adds to its quirky charm.

Dedicated to that particular member of the family (you know who you are) who knits something for practically everyone on her Christmas list.

"Blue."
"Yes, green."

Kills me.

from The Panopticon, a wonderful knitting blog

And in other news....

NoNoWriMo continues. I hated it this morning. Couldn't get going, didn't want to write. Wanted to stomp on its head. Had no ideas. Ideas that did surface sucked. Got discouraged, especially when I read a rant on another blog about how NaNoWriMo is a bad idea because it encourages crappy writing, makes you a slave to word count and therefore you end up with something that can't be fixed no matter how much time you put into editing the hell out of it. In other words, a complete waste of time.

Well, yes and no. I wanted to see if having a deadline would push me to write more. More words, more often, more consistently. I will think of a million excuses not to write. But what happens when I'm forced to write (in my case, I don't know about anyone else) is that in the act of writing, certain creative doors just pop open. I sit back and look inside and think, "well what do you know about that?" It's not enough to just sit around and think about ideas, or even to write an outline. It's the act of doing it that reveals all kinds of stuff.

Today a character popped up out of nowhere. It was supposed to be a creepy old man. It turned out to be a tattooed, pierced, charming young woman. And having this girl there suddenly created a new and welcome twist in the plot. Hm. Not sure I would have thought of her had I just outlined, or stared at the clouds.

I'm exercising my creative muscles. I don't know if I'll end up with something usable or not. But when I lift weights, I'm not aiming for the Olympics. I just know I'll be in better shape than when I started. That's all I want out it. Maybe I'm just being too Canadian.

The last point in this other blog was that writing is supposed to be enjoyable, not done "with a gun to your head." Well, some of us need more motivation than others. If not a gun to the head, maybe a kick in the butt. NaNoWriMo is my kick in the butt.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a tattooed lady to attend to.

Smartass Bathroom Stall Talk

Not to be confused with bathroom small talk.

I like to think of it as High Art or High Culture. Not to be confused with Low Culture, practiced by Barbarians, Philistines and the plebs, good bathroom graffiti reflects the mores of our times. T.S. Eliot believed that the only way to a complete culture was a mix of the high and popular culture. This apparent juxtaposition explains why I love things like Monty Python's "moistened bink lobbing a scimitar" sketch. (Bonus points if you can name that movie! In fact, now that I think of it, the first night I slept over with my boyfriend now husband of 25 years, we got up around 4 a.m., ordered a pizza and watched this movie together. No one bats an eye when you do such things in Montreal. Order pizza at 4 a.m. not sleep over at your boyfriend's house. Moving on...)

The best graffiti is usually found on campus stalls. I remember long discussions, sometimes going on for weeks, all over the walls of the bathroom stalls at Victoria College at University of Toronto. That is until the janitor ruined the fun and removed all traces of what were some most excellent debates. Mind you, I wasn't the janitor in question, so it was all fun and games and a black marker for me.

Now there's a blog called passiveaggressivenotes.com that posts notes left on windshields when someone parks in the wrong spot, or notes left on the communal fridge in the office or my favourites, the ones left in bathrooms, like this gem.

Original note:

If you need to extract dried mucus from your nose, please use a tissue. The bathroom walls are not the place for them.

Reply:

It's called "performance art." Expand your horizons.

Rebuttal:

Expand a couple sheets of tissue.

In fact, there is a host of notes on this very subject. Go here, if you dare for the "bathroom stall booger epidemic" as they like to call it. If you can't, you know, go there, and you're looking for something more pedestrian, try this one from Toronto, about why it's bad to park on someone's naughty bits.

Bad park you! Bad!

Sweet Moose

No, not mousse, moose.

Not so long ago, on the way to our cottage, my husband and I came across two young moose jogging casually along our country road. I pulled up behind them, cursing myself for leaving my camera in the trunk, and cruised alongside them until they moved forward, right in front of the car, and kept up the slow pace for several minutes. They were all long limbs and bouncy gaits, gangly teenager moose looking for trouble.

Occasionally one or both would turn and have a look to see if we were still behind them, but they didn't seem particularly bothered that we were there. Eventually one sidled into the woods, then the other followed and just like that, they were gone. I've never seen any other moose up at the lake (deer, yes, they're everywhere and treat my garden like a salad bar) but I'm hoping I'll see moose there again some day.

Found this at iloveorange

Because it's Friday

I like to take the easy peasy way out on Fridays, so I shall send you off on your weekend with this funny little video. Thanks to kc dyer for the link. These Aussie lads are all kinds of awesome!

Enjoy! Bon weekend!



(This looks like the Just for Laughs stage. Hey, Kathy Down The Road. Is this Montreal? Were you and Dave there?)

And happy birthday to my boy who, at the age of 22, is actually a man, a concept I have a hard time grasping sometimes. In my mind's eye, he'll always be that sweet determined little boy of five, hurtling down the driveway on his two-wheeler with the absolute conviction that he could do it, could do anything, once he set his mind to succeeding.

And fall he did, over and over, until he didn't. And with that, he was flying on his own, free, and by his own rules.

You go, kiddo. Mama is so proud.

Dating Advice from the 30s For You Ladies Out There

But as for you women out there, you might want to take it with a grain of salt.

Preferably after a shot of tequila.

Dating Advice, or The Rules of Engagement

Rule #1. Don't slouch or chew gum. Check. But wearing ugly shoes on a date is A-okay.

Rule #2. This implies if you don't need a brassiere, you can skip it entirely. But wearing a girdle is a given. And call me crazy, but if you don't know you have a stocking hanging down around your ankles, you've had a few too many before the date has even started.

Also, if your date has this kind of reaction to wrinkled stockings, imagine what he'd do if eventually you got married and he witnessed, say, the birth of your child. Or your Saturday morning sweatpants.

Rule #3. So if applying makeup and touching the interior of a car is verboten, I'm guessing driving the car would annoy him even more.

Rule #4. How did "careless" and "talking" get thrown into the same category?

Rule #5. I expect he already is talking about the things he wants to talk about which is why she is no doubt pondering whether or not she is able to pull her sweater up over her head in order to block out further conversation.

Rule #6. I'm fairly confident that his annoyance stems from how she is showing affection, i.e., jamming a finger in his ear while bending the cartilage and pinching his lobe, and that given some encouragement about a possible change of location, her "escort" might find this rule as bendable as his ear cartilage.

Rule #7. Silly has always been seriously underrated. Ditto dignity.

Rule #8. If your date sits around all mopey because things are not going his way, tell him not only does he risk having his face get stuck like that, but you will pick up the check and the waiter.

Rule #9. Don't be conspicuous... Wait. Conspicuous means "attracting attention." In other words, if you want to lean over in a drunken stupor and rub the head of a total stranger sitting behind you, do it discreetly. Duh.

Rule #10 (which also looks a lot like Rule #1)

Do you really want to date a guy who keeps score?

Two Delightfully Ribald Videos

The first one cracked me up, if you'll pardon the pun.

It comes from Sweden.

If this is what passes for entertainment there, I want to move to Sweden.

It could be titled Creative Alternatives for Swedish Crispbreads.

The second one is Irish writer, stand-up comic, director, video star and soon to be BBC TV star Brendan O'Carroll performing as Mrs. Brown. He's written seven plays, five novels and two screenplays but this Mrs. Brown character will be his legacy. Look out Dame Edna.

This is not safe for work, or little ears, or for those easily offended by profanity or old ladies talking about their sex lives. I, on the other hand, laughed my patootie off. (Sheeyah, I wish.)

Thanks Cindyloo Who, for sending these my way!

Granny O'Grimm is going to the Oscars

Thanks to kc dyer, I discovered this Oscar nominated, animated short called Granny O'Grimm. (Are you watching the Oscars this Sunday? I'm a bit 'meh' about them this year, having seen very few of the films. Call me crazy, but I'm not willing to use our infrequent date nights for an evening of watching body parts blown to bits in THE HURT LOCKER or baseball bats to the head in INGLORIOUS BASTERDS, as a fer instance. But of course I'll watch the Oscars with a Scotch in hand.)

From Granny's website:

We all know the Grimm fairytales. Granny's are grimmer...

Once upon a time there was a granny who dreamed of being the best granny in the whole world. Unfortunately, this granny was tormented by a lifetime of rage against the world and everyone in it. Luckily, nobody noticed what an angry old woman she had become because they took no notice of her one way or another. But there's only so much anger one old woman can repress before it BURSTS OUT FROM THE DEPTHS OF HER SOUL IN A SCREAMING FIREBALL OF BITTERNESS AND RESENTMENT!


Apparently Granny O'Grimm will be an animated series in 3D and 2D. Be still my heart.

Just stop what you're doing and have a look HERE. (Go to the bottom of the page and double click "The Film".) It's brilliant and it'll be the best five minutes you spend today, I guarantee it especially if you know a granny who is less sugar and spice and more sour daiquiri. I had one grandmother we called The Nana Who Never Said No, and another we called The Nana Who Spanks Us But Only When We Deserve It. That Nana gave my middle sister a whoopin' when she climbed up on a chair and picked off all the browned tips of a lemon meringue pie. I fully supported the whoopin', btw; those brown bits are the best part. As nice as the other Nana was, it was tradition to gently ram her with the car and back her into the garage wall like a frightened deer glaring into the headlights each time we left her home after Sunday dinner, but that's another story for another day.

See what Granny has to say about her Oscar nomination HERE.

The other nominees in the short animation category are:

French Roast by Fabrice O. Joubert (just the trailer):


Logorama by Nicholas Schmerkin HERE (just a snippet but I'm not blown away):

Another Wallace and Gromit by Nick Park, this time in A Matter of Loaf and Death (trailer only, and while I love Nick Park, I mean love him, to me this is the same old, same old):


And The Lady and the Reaper by Javier Recio Gracia. Very, very dark humour and a biting commentary on death and the heroic efforts we go to to preserve life. Can't say I cared for it, but if you want to see for yourself, the full short is HERE:

Take it from me. Granny O'Grimm is the best by a mile.

Best Commercial I've Seen in Years

It takes a lot to make me laugh out loud, especially commercials. (Usually the clever ones originate in Australia or the U.K.)

When I worked at my old ad agency, back before the internet, the whole agency would hie itself to a local theatre once a year to watch the world's best commercials. Ah, good times. Now we just go to YouTube.

My niece in Colorado sent me this tongue-in-cheek gem and I've since seen it during American Idol. The last line was so deliciously random I got the full on snort-giggles.



Bon weekend!

Silly videos and a question

I love the high fives they give each other at the end of their performance. No clue at all....

How cute is this kid? (Beware: this song has a tendency to become a brain worm.)

So, here is my question. A member of my local camera club, I'll call him 'Richard' (for that is his name) revealed that he'd done a search on my blog for all my recipes. Now, I've hardly put any up, since I didn't think people cared about such things. I love to cook all manner of things from cakes and breads, vegetarian and meat-based main meals, pretty much soup to nuts. Okay, maybe not nuts. No, hang on. I do have a recipe for spicy roasted pecans with maple syrup.

So my question is: hands up how many would be interested in me posting recipes on a regular basis?

(And Richard, I know how to make vegetable samosas with coriander chutney. You know the one I'm talking about.)

So?

Who's for it?

Who doesn't care one way or the other?

Do you walk to work or bring a lunch?

More Personals from the LRB

The London Review of Books has the best personals ever. Just regular joes looking for an average date, assuming you are a crab-juggling fish nerd or a space goat.


My favourite one this week:

I subvert all the expectations built up in this column like a goat in space subverts gravy. Space-goat-esque gravy-subverting pervert (M, 51).

A goat in space subverting gravy? Ah, if only I was available....

More Personals from the London Review of Books

They always feature the most bizarre personalities, unless I'm just a prude and this is what they're used to on the other side of the pond.

Hee hee hee, he almost had me until the very end. Now I have the giggles and am positively ecstatic I'm not single and looking for a date. Ah, me. I think I'd rather just curl up with my dog and a good book.

Bugga Bugga Bugga

Hie yourself over to Bush Babe of Granite Glen. She is discussing Naughty Words and has posted a high-larious Aussie commercial featuring one word (which is not considered particularly offensive here in Canada, but might be elsewhere so consider yourself warned.) I've watched it a few times and always end up giggling. Lottery Girl, you will love this.

My English grandmother used to call us little buggers as a term of endearment. At least I think that's what she meant....

Eric Bana...who knew?

I had no idea Eric Bana was so funny. His impression of Arnie slays me. And then there is Sting singing party songs. Oh my...